The inhabitants of the Great Hall collectively held their breath as the Goblet of Fire let out another surge, as if mocking the back turned retreating form of Headmaster Dumbledore, before spitting out another ever so slightly singed slip of crisp folded paper. The folded note drifted aimlessly down, paying no heed to the tension in the room, the curling anxiety and tongues readying with poison to fling at whoever had disturbed the return of the games, and the collapse of what was supposed to be a fair play. Each school already had their one singular champion, the Goblet should've gone dark, not alit with another's name.
Harry preemptively shrank back in his seat, hoping to use the other students as a shield. No one was looking his way, not quite, he was in the corner of their eyes but they hadn't a cause for judgement just yet, and despite knowing full well he hadn't entered his name - hadn't even wanted to, knew his luck was truly abysmal. He'd just wanted a quiet year. As close to normal as he could, something he'd yet to have, just one year no one hated him, barely even thought of him.
Please, Harry mentally begged, praying to any higher being that could possibly be listening, please don't let that be my name.
The sky of the hall seemed to shudder briefly, barely noticeable really, but shuddered all the same, before Harry felt a cool caress waft across his face and ruffle his hair with a gentle breeze, only to vanish without trace or any seeming cause.
Dumbledore caught the paper.
The silence of the room was stifling.
The time it took for Dumbledore to read the name was agonising, so much so it took most people a moment to notice the pure befuddlement creeping across the garishly dressed professors face.
In an uncharacteristically hesitant voice, Dumbledore called out the name, voice echoing through the hall and down the corridors beyond the closed doors, "SIRIUS OWENS."
Nearly simultaneously, everyone blinked once, then twice, and then a third time for good measure, in total blank confusion.
Durmstrang was alleged to have only allowed Krum's name to be entered, Beauxbatons entrees had become quite popular and were comparatively few in numbers, and with practically half the school watching the Goblet like hawks with prey on the lead up, most people had an a good idea of exactly who had tried their luck. No Sirius Owens.
Nobody even knew of a Sirius Owens, it was a rather peculiar name - too peculiar to aptly be of muggle origin, but too stigmatised to be wizardly. Memorable.
No one had a memory of any Sirius Owens.
"Who in Merlin's saggy left-" Ron started, often one to tend towards annoyance when confronted with the unexplained.
Hermione cut in with an admonishment, "Ronald!"
"I think this deserves me cursing how I like 'mione, or do you know what the... Erumpents is going on?"
"I'm. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to what's currently occurring." Hermione sniffed, leaning back slightly into Ron's side for support, blatantly contradicting the confidence of her words.
"Perfectly reasonable, sure." Ron snorted derisively, putting an arm round Hermione's shoulders before reaching out and dragging Harry under his other one, "Was half expecting it to be Harry if I'm honest."
Harry startled, "I didn't put my name in! I want-"
"-a stress free normal year, I know mate." Ron finished with a grin, before pausing consideringly, "I think I would've been a right git though if your name had come out. I think I'm still a bit miffed about being left out of helping to save your godfather last year."
Frowning, Harry gently pressed his head down on Ron's shoulder, opening his mouth to respond before Dumbledore cut across the murmuring chatter of the hall.
"Sirius Owens, if you would kindly step forward so that we may greet our fourth champion?" Dumbledore asked, calmly. He held is knobbly wand to his throat for the Sonorus charm to aid him in being heard over the clamour.
A beat passed without a soul daring to speak.
The Goblet of Fire rattled.
For the Triwizard Tournament, it's word was more than law, akin to a deital decree, it's call would be heeded whether the receiver was willing or not - changing your mind was not an option, upon name selection, nothing could be altered. The Goblet may not be wholly tamper proof, no God has any full claim to omniscience or omnipotence, but the Goblet was as stubborn as an old man claiming his back didn't hurt even after falling off the roof three times in a single week. The kind to have a back broken in four places and still seen later than night toddling himself down to the pub to get hammered.
The Goblet of Fire rattled.
It's shakes increased in power and tempo, causing tremors to emenate out into the hall, cutlery and plates clanking and chattering, porcelain taps and metallic tangs. The students could feel it in their shoes, rising up their legs as their bones fell into the oscillation of the very room, caused solely by the still flaming golden authority.
The fire started to spurt and spit, growing upwards in intensity, sparks sizzling out on the stone floors and unwitting students cloaks. Suddenly, or rather, violently, as this much seemed the natural progression of things, the Goblet let our a torrent of flame into the halls sky, seething and writhing into the false heavens, before the pillar shifted to serpentine, aprubtly darting down to tightly circle a spot on the floor just in front of the Goblet, and the Headmaster, barely missing his mustard yellow embroided purple slippers.
Seeming to almost cackle, the fire sped up, a shape starting to emerge in its centre, shadowy through the flames, slowly becoming distinctly humanoid, before all at once the fire ceased and the Goblet fell silent and dark.
Harry rapidly blinked, trying to clear out the dancing spots in his eyes from looking directly at the light of the flame, wanting to see what it had revealed.
A spluttering came from behind the largest spot, cutting off into a rather awful coughing fit that eventually subsided, alongside the clearing of Harry's, admittedly quite poor as standard, vision.
It was a boy, a shock of white hair dusted with soot and ash, older than Harry himself, probably around a fifth or sixth year, so still student aged, and dressed in a rather dated fashion. A dark maroon waistcoat that almost seemed blue in some of the flickering lights, a puffy sleeved white shirt and cravat, partially hidden under a dark loose scarf. It didn't look to be a school uniform - no school uniform would have faintly embroidered skulls, probably.
The boy coughed once more, eyes fluttering open where he stood, though squinting from the light, waving a hand in front to clear some of the residual smoke. His eyes looked almost purple, a dark purple, like they had been changed, started off something darker, something more normal. Overall the boy, presumably Sirius Owens was almost as peculiar as the situation.
"Sirius Owens, I presume?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling behind his well known spectacles.
Owens startled, looking towards to headmaster and then around himself, something like a mild concern brewing in his face.
"... You would presume correctly, yes, I am Sirius Owens. Since you know my name, perhaps I could trouble you for an introduction of yourself? I know that I am in the Great Hall in Hogwarts, but I don't seem to... Recognise anything further." Owens retorted, one hand settling on his hip while the other gestured around him before falling flat at his side.
Dumbledore slowly raised an eyebrow, "I am professor Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts." He smiled genially, looking for all the world as if nothing was amiss at all despite Owens rapid blinking, "Might I ask who you know to be headmaster?"
Owens looked around himself again, eyes darting quickly around the hall, talking in the visiting schools' students, the decorations, and even making accidental eye contact with Harry himself for a brief moment.
He sighed, posture losing some small degree of tension as he seemingly figured something out.
"I'm a fifth year student of Hogwarts under Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. I was actually just about to be taking my O.W.Ls, I don't know quite how much time has passed since then but I take it it's been... A significant amount. I don't suppose Black was succeeded by a mooncalf like one of the gargoyles suggested? I was rather partial to that idea."
Shock flowed through the student body, though Harry didn't fully understand why.
"Phineas Black was last headmaster almost seventy years ago." Hermione murmered to him and Ron quietly.
Understanding dawned on the two, "Blimey."
Dumbledore frowned slightly, eyes not losing their twinkle, "I'm afraid Phineas hasn't been Headmaster since 1925, the current year being 1994. Your name was just pulled from the Goblet of Fire as one of the chosen champions for the Triwizard Tournament."
Wincing, Owens shuffled slightly, though it didn't seem from anxiety, more from wanting to move, do something, "Ah... I see."
"Why don't you join your fellow champions through the door over there and the other teachers and I shall be along shortly." Dumbledore spoke evenly, gesturing to the door the other champions had vanished through earlier, and were no doubt restlessly waiting behind.
Owens tilted his head slightly before firmly nodding, walking passed the headmaster without an unnecessary in any direction. The echoing footsteps starkly apparent and filling the hall, though Owens betrayed no sense of unease.
Quietly, as if all was well, he sashayed through the door, the dull thud of it closing ringing out hollowly behind.